


Where Loyalties Lie

by Skullszeyes



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Coping, Hallucinations, Kissing, M/M, Mild Blood, Non-Graphic Smut, Non-Graphic Violence, Romance, Rough Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 09:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14912738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skullszeyes/pseuds/Skullszeyes
Summary: Edward is uncertain about his actions and decides to go to Oswald to cope with his thoughts and the voice inside his head.





	Where Loyalties Lie

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really sure why I decided to write this. I started at 3am and it's almost 5. LOL. I couldn't sleep, so I wanted to write another Nygmobblepot. It doesn't really have much of a stable plot or anything, I just wrote until it was finished. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy anyway.
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo's are appreciative.

It was a slow morning, the streams of light making its way into the room through the blinds. The warmth of the bed and the body next to Edward is comfortable, a heaven he didn’t know existed in the dark creases of Gotham City amongst the vermin that run the underworld, bending its rules to their every whim.

He was awake for some time, basking in that simplicity, in every second he was able to grasp between his fingers when the night before, dirt and blood made its way beneath his nails, his teeth grit, as he scrambled from the ground in the alley at the taste of ash on his tongue, and the bullets screaming through the air.

The bodies laid crumpled on the ground, forgotten when their loyalties ran dry, exposed for him to prod and drag apart. Their screams weren’t enough to sate his interest, not when his time was slowly coming to an end in the alley. He had to slip unnoticed from the mayhem the others had created, whoever had decided to mess with The Riddler’s plans.

It was late, the sky darkening in the horizon, and the lights burned the city alive with all its inhabitants that crawled from their dens. He didn’t care about the blood that stained his hands, or even his white shirt and green jacket. He only had one thought on his mind that made his mouth dry.

The Iceberg Lounge was opened, and the patrons mingled amongst each other with the taste of cigarette’s and something sweet given to them from the bartender. He came through the back, stumbled past the kitchen, and peeked into the crowd.

He spotted him, a warm smile on his face, and danger in his eyes. A lust that could never be quenched, even how much he swallowed the violence and raw sin that marked the city to its depth.

He was the only one that could truly ruin everyone and everything he touched, he was small and fragile from a far, but once the line is crossed. The Penguin truly knows how to be cold and cruel inside, where he sadistically revels in his blood thirsty soul.

Edward shudders, but he makes his way through the crowd toward Oswald Cobblepot. He notices him, a smile unlike the warmth, unlike the cold, but something more intoxicating, it stays on his lips, in his eyes, in his body that turns towards him at Edward’s approach.

He’s about to say something, to greet him, and Edward can’t help the feeling that Oswald sees the pain on his face, the exhaustion, the blood, but Oswald has seen it all before. He was once on his knees, broken by submission and fear, and now he rose beyond it, and no longer sees what others would consider an abomination.

Edward pulls Oswald close and smothers him with his mouth, frantic and starving from the night’s terror making its way up Edward’s spine.

“Ed?” Oswald murmurs once he moves back, looking at him with an arched brow. “What’s wrong? You’re covered in blood, did something happen?”

There was nothing false in Oswald’s voice, when he cherishes a person, it becomes like a jewel in Oswald’s eyes, beautiful and tempting.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Edward said, leaning down to brush their mouths, but before they could kiss again, Oswald takes his hand.

“Not here,” Oswald whispers, pulling him away and down a hall, he speaks to someone, and then they’re outside. The warm night air brushes against Edward’s hair, and he tries to pull Oswald closer, but he can see the cheeky smile on his face.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Edward said, pushing Oswald against the wall and kissing him again.

There’s something sweet and raw in Oswald’s mouth, the taste of alcohol and wine mixed together. Edward sinks into the kiss, needing more of it to rid the adrenaline from his system.

“Edward,” Oswald says, pulling him away from the wall toward the car that was parked next to the curb, a driver had opened the door for them, and Oswald pulled Edward inside.

There was always the chance that he could lose everything. He doesn’t waste time to push Oswald down, even if Oswald didn’t expect it to happen, that maybe he thought that Edward had enough control to wait it out until they got to his house.

He doesn’t have any, not tonight.

He crawls on top, listening to Oswald whispering his name, asking him what was wrong, but it’s swallowed up by his mouth, his tongue, the softness that eases out whimpers. Oswald’s fingers dig into Edward’s arms, holding him close, moaning in his mouth.

Once he didn’t know how to properly love, that a touch could set a blaze and he could feel each burn with a feather of a kiss on his skin. That a loss and a heartbreak could end in shattered shards of a mirrored version of his soul.

Anger was between them, alive and fleeting, that it sent bullets through their bodies, and ice in their veins, that confusion of cold winds and burning blood could end in distrust, and begin in obsession and want.

Oswald is saying his name again, a mantra of warnings and promises that were once threats between metal bars that caused them to ripple in sickness and delusion. He recalls the pain, the quietness in his soul that wanted to shred it all apart, but Oswald is pushing him up, and he reaches for the door.

“Hurry up,” he grits out, glaring into Edward’s eyes as if seeing something else.

Edward steps onto the cement, watching Oswald biting down on his kissed bruised lips, and the glassy eyes dazed by arousal that Edward had sparked.

He waves to the driver and leads Edward to the house. “Are you going to tell me what happened or do I have to guess?”

Edward scoffs. “You’ll probably find out in the next hour.”

“I promise you, it’ll be in thirty or so minutes when I get a call from the Lounge. Someone will update me on what _The Riddler_ has been doing in the last twenty minutes.” He narrows his eyes at Edward, watching him like an insect, and yet Edward knows Oswald isn’t stupid, he didn’t become who he was without having a knife in his hand, and an experienced deception carved in his bones from the men and woman who managed to push him around.

He learned his own fears by the ones who drove it in others, who marked their territories, and ruled until someone else challenged their hold on their throne.

Oswald did it with skill and cunning that even Edward was amazed by. Mostly by nights in a dark room with Oswald heaving out breaths, cursing lightly, arching his back with bruises on his throat. Edward could easily tuck a knife in the curve of his collarbone, and whisper a death that Oswald surely deserved.

How could he desire something he overly tried to conquer, when he craved something more from him.

Intimate and fear coexisted in many, and once held, it can be controlled and it can fade.

“I was dealing with disloyalty and things got out of control. Not on my part, where I was wasn’t exactly discreet.”

The door opened and they walked through. Oswald’s home was quiet, and dead, like a corpse. Edward had counted the rooms, the many ways to escape its hold, but he was never forced to leave its confines.

“The blood isn’t yours?” Oswald asked, leading him up the stairs that creaked under their weight.

“No,” Edward said, examining the spilled blood from the two men that cursed and spat in his face. He curled his fingers into a fist and broke one of their noses, and stabbed them until their bodies stopped twitching. “It’s not mine.”

“Anything else?” Oswald asked as he pushed open his bedroom doors and began taking off his coat and placing it on the coat rack next to his mirror that was on the side near the window. He glanced at Edward who was closing the doors. “I need details so I can deal with the aftermath that will be presented to me”

“I didn’t mean for my business to become a hindrance to you,” Edward said, taking off his coat and draped it on the back of a chair.

“Business is business,” Oswald said, turning to him and smiling, “it’s always going to leave a mess even if we don’t want it too.”

_No one will ever truly know you. No one will ever want too._

Edward takes a few strides toward Oswald, “I’m not sure who they were, but they started firing once I finished.”

“They must have seen the ridiculous green suit and realized a pickle was killing their friends.”

Edward couldn’t help but grin, “Who has _friends_ in Gotham? That’s lunacy.”

He came to think what they had was a tragedy. Were they worth keeping alive when they kissed in secret? When they breathed in each other as their tongues met, and their bodies pressed together.

Edward lead Oswald to the bed, and he played with the buttons on Oswald’s shirt until they became undone and he peels the shirt from his smooth skin that only he can see.

Did it matter?

No, it didn’t.

Oswald would tear anyone’s throat out if they questioned what they had. The secret was a blemish on their skin, appearing in the light in the early mornings until dusk. Their smiles met like promises, and their friendship collided, fingers interlacing, and their hearts pulsed with fervish and no remorse.

Edward didn’t care what others thought. Their questions never bothered him, their threats were empty as bullet casings. He was drunk on the passion, the riveting intoxication that made him want more, that shut out the thoughts, the mirrored image that laughed in his face.

“Are you okay?” Oswald asked after a moment, panting underneath him. “You seem distracted.”

_You can’t love me. Tell him that. It’s the truth, isn’t it?_

“I’m okay,” Edward said, pressing his forehead against Oswald’s. “It’s not something I want to think about right now.”

In these heated moments he was vulnerable with his lips silencing out any words from Oswald, hoping that a haze of lust can stop them both from thinking too much.

It was a snap, a reality fixing itself when he resumed control of his body. He sucked in a breath as the pain returned to him, and the bodies were lifeless. It hadn’t happened in awhile, a loss of control, his needs replaced by forced calculation and action that resulted in betrayal.

_“What did you do?”_

_“What had to be done. You were taking forever, and they were going to kill us.”_

_“I wanted to handle it.”_

_“By what? Convincing them that you’re not a fool? Don’t lie to yourself, this is getting pathetic, I might as well take control for now. It’ll be better for the both of us.”_

_“No. You can’t do that. This was wrong...I needed to—”_

_“To what? Hope they changed their minds about you? They were right, you can’t do what is possible, but I can.”_

_“I can deal with this. I can—”_

The bullets and the yelling had jolted him out of his trance, and before he knew it, he was running down the alley, into the darkness until his back was against the wall, trying to catch his breath while wiping the blood on his jacket.

_“I know what you’re thinking. He’s not a cure. He’s not going to help you. This is your mess, deal with it on your own.”_

_“I’m not going to ask him for help.”_

He heard the scoff as he turned and walked down the alley.

_“You got to be kidding me, this again?”_

_“I don’t want you having control.”_

_“Oh no, of course not, he would hate if I had any type of control. Unlike the other times, he didn’t even seem to notice the difference.”_

Edward had shaken his head, ignoring the voice, he needed clarity and that was exactly what he was going to get.

“Ed?”

He stopped, sweat on his skin made him shudder in the dark. “What?”

“Are you okay? You seem—”

Edward continued his movements, trying to get Oswald to stop asking questions, and to get himself away from his thoughts, away from his fears that beckoned him closer.

Oswald choked out a moan, his fingers dug into Edward’s arms, dragging him down to press their mouths together. He was always erratic when Edward had him alone, always breathing out moans, arching, calling out his name.

When they were finished, he had loathed himself as he covered their bodies and Oswald fell asleep in his arms. He didn’t want to use Oswald, he knew he’d hate the pity, but Edward had no other escape, and he was too far gone to stop.

_He’ll find out sooner or later._

Edward fell asleep, and it all came back to him when he woke up. Lying in the bed with his thoughts on the edge, his fingers playing with the ends of Oswald’s hair until he woke up.

Oswald rubbed his eyes, craning his head up to kiss Edward’s chin. “Good morning.”

“It’s almost noon,” Edward said, brushing their noses together.

“I don’t care.” Oswald drew closer.

Love. It filled his lungs with bloody knives, threats, and lies. He tucked most of it away inside himself, away from the light that could turn it to dust. He did not cherish like Oswald, no one and nothing was like jewels, they were more like echoes inside his head, reminding him of all he did.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Oswald murmured, holding Edward close. “You think this is nothing, that everything that happens is like a nightmare, relieving itself over and over each night until you wake up screaming with fear beating along with your heart.”

Edward didn’t know what to say to that.

Oswald looked at him, a sort of softness in his eyes, but his voice was more like a razor against clean skin, “I know what _he’s_ thinking. That it’s a game, something to set on fire once its over, only to be played again and again, and everyone is a loser, including yourself.”

There’s an ache that wants him to devour Oswald all over again, but he rests his head against Oswald’s and sighs. “I don’t really like sleeping, and _he_ really enjoys games.”

“I find that I’m perfectly compatible to yours and his capabilities.”

“You enjoy his methods more than mine,” Edward says, bitterly.

Oswald pushes himself up, “I would choose you over him, because in all that, I see you more in everything he does, and it bothers me that you hate yourself so much that you can’t even see it”

Every hour stolen, his hand is raised, his voice is heard, and it echoes like a chant inside his mind. But nights with Oswald with his smile bare for him to see, and his eyes a light with a chaos that he created.

Edward pulls Oswald back down and kisses him, and all his thoughts wither away.

“I don’t think I can live without you,” he whispers against his lips.

Oswald smiles. “Then do everything you can to stay alive.”

Edward blinks, his gaze going past Oswald’s head to the smiling man in a clean green coat and a bowler hat.

“I love you,” Edward says, and all his fears are swollen inside his chest, and he holds Oswald in his arms, a kiss burning his lips.

_You really know how to lie to him._

**Author's Note:**

> Do you think Ed is lying, or The Riddler? I'm not really sure, I didn't know how to end it, and I'm really tired, I can't really think at the moment, so I hope you enjoy this fic anyway. :)
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo's are appreciative.


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